


Marked Pieces

by Salios



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M, Markings, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/pseuds/Salios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At thirty nine, James Bond has yet to find his other half. There was a perfect match for everyone; denoted by a pair of markings, one on each partner. Bond’s marking was on his chest, slightly over and above his heart. Or, really, most of it was. Moneypenny’s shot had ripped through the mark during the mission in Turkey. As the wound had healed and the mark hadn’t returned, Bond fell into depression. How would he know his perfect match now? How would he, or she, know of James? Would they still want him, if they ever met, once they saw the tattered remains of their link?</p><p>James doubted it.<br/>-----------------</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying desperately to work through my writers' block, and have been pushing forward to finish this. Rejoice! Something short! (It isn't likely to happen again -the short part I mean.)  
> I don't hear this too often, but if anyone feels the itch to write something in this verse, feel free. Wow, that sounds pretentious in type... Ah well, enjoy!

“Q?”

“Hmm?” The boffin didn’t look up from filling out a requisition form, pen flying across the paper in a tall, loopy scrawl.

“I hadn’t thought to ask until now, but what does your life-mate think about the odd hours you keep?”

Q’s pen went skittering across the clipboard before the tip sunk into the palm of his right hand. He yelped and threw his hands up, pen spiraling away through the air, clipboard clattering to the ground. The brunette hissed and stuck the puncture, situated beside the lowest knuckle of his thumb in the meatiest part, into his mouth. The glare he directed at Bond could have peeled paint.

The double-oh chuckled weakly and raised his hands, trying to look apologetic and likely failing.

Q drew his hand away to glance at the puncture. He grumbled something, licked the wound, and focused back on Bond. “Double-Oh-Seven, I sincerely doubt you care about my personal life and are only looking for a source of entertainment. Saying that, let me put your fears concerning my competency to rest; I have no life-mate and therefore nothing to distract me from fulfilling my duties as Quartermaster of MI6.” He promptly snatched up the fallen clipboard, spun on his heel, and strode away.

The slamming of his office door clashed with his cool tone.

Bond frowned.

\----------

“Does he really have no one?”

Bond stood momentarily as Eve tugged a sheaf of paper out from under his rump. He sat back down with his arms crossed. It had been a week since his offhand question to Q had sparked something of a cold war between the double-oh division and Q-branch. The minions were no less proficient in their work, though their bedside manner left much to be desired. At first Bond had been the only one to be shunned (and hissed at). But as word spread the other agents tried their hand at broaching the topic only to be added to Q’s possibly-not-metaphorical-shit-list.

Their hotel accommodations, once four and five star, were now little better than tattered cots in buildings that looks to be far past the point of safe-use. Flights were now only available in coach and somehow the double-oh would _always_ find him or herself between a pair of screaming toddlers. Weapons and intel were as top-notch as always, if there were fewer gadgets given out than before.

Q-branch had drawn their line in the sand, conveniently behind where the double-ohs had already tread.

There had been something akin to a mutiny within the ranks of senior agents at their treatment from their boffins. With more than one threat against his manhood, Bond had retreated to the slightly safer territory of Eve’s foyer. The ex-field agent had made it clear right away that Bond had screwed up.

“No, Bond, he doesn’t, and he isn’t too keen on discussing it either.” She barely looked at him as she signed documents and shuffled folders stamped with the universal red block of **[CLASSIFIED]** across their fronts. “As far as we’re concerned, his life-mate is dead.” She glanced up at him, hands keeping rhythm, “Or he will be, given what half of MI6 wants to do to him.”

Bond scoffed, “Certainly more than _half_.” He paused and cocked his head to the side, “He? How do you know?”

“Q told me. He’s one of those extra-sensitive ones; he gets more than a vague warmth in his chest like we do. Q told me once that he could feel actual emotions from his mate. In one instance he was alone, had been for a while apparently, and according to Q he could smell unfamiliar cologne.” Her hands paused and lowered to the desk. “And there was the time that Q felt his mate die.”

Bond started and sat straight, pale eyes intent. “...What…?” That shouldn’t have been possible.

It was common for bond-mates to feel hot and cold ghost sensations from their other half. This quirk was often used when locating one’s mate. Bitter cold, though, was felt at the death of a mate; the kind of cold that stole a person’s breath and chilled them to the bone. For Q to still be alive after feeling his mate’s death was a miracle...or cruel torture…

“When? He looks fine to me; maybe a bit skinny and pale but I always thought that had more to do with his genetics and boffin lifestyle than anything else.” Bond pursed his lips.

“Almost two years ago now. We suspect hit mate was shot, if Q’s description was anything to go by. He felt the wound,” she raised her hand to her chest, just above the heart, “And apparently his own heart stopped just after it happened.” She dropped her hand to play with a pen. “He wasn’t far from medical at the time, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it.

“He spent nearly a month in the ICU, hooked up to all sorts of machines. His heart kept stopping and the rest of him has constant hypothermia. Everything was shutting down.” The pen cracked as her hand squeezed and Eve let go. The blue and white stick rolled until it nudged Bond’s thigh. “It took nearly three months before he could leave the hospital, and another one for Boothroyd to let him return to work.” She chuckled darkly and smirked up at the double-oh, “He was going stir-crazy and everyone knew if left on his own he’d either take over a small country or start running ops of his own.”

Bond chuckled, “That certainly sounds like our Q.”

Eve hummed. “He never even met his mate, as far as I’ve been told. So we didn’t even know who to mourn.” She shook her head, thick hair bobbing, and quirked a smile at Bond that was only slightly strained. “But that’s in the past. You, in all your bull-headed glory, did what you did best and ran straight at trouble.

“So how about this; go out, buy him something sweet, and suck up your pride. Otherwise you’ll be stuck on mandatory leave until you off yourself.”

The agent snorted and rose from Eve’s desk. “I concede the point to you, Eve. I did bugger this up, and as much as we like to snipe at each other I hadn’t intended to actually offend him. Any suggestions as to what treat would earn me the most points?”

\----------------

Q looked up at the crinkle of tissue paper. He blinked and drew back from the black and white, stylized bag as it swung from Bond’s outstretched fingers. The boffin stared at the agent from over his spectacles and raised one dark brow.

“Bond, we’ve discussed this -and by ‘discussed’ I obviously mean I’ve reprimanded you several times- _use your words._ ”

Bond grimaced and set the bag down gently. “Some things shouldn’t need accompanying words to muddy their meaning, Quartermaster.”

“In some instances, yes, I entirely agree. In this case, however, I think a verbal explanation might be in order.” He prodded the bag with the tip of his pen, making no move to check inside.

Bond rolled his eyes, “It’s an apology, Q, in confectionary form.” Rather than waiting for Q, who looked as ready to unwrap his gift as a toddler was to leave their mother’s leg, Bond went ahead and pulled out the tissue paper and the box within. He lay the black box on the desk and gently scooched it towards the brunette with the tip of one broad finger. In a rare tell, the agent tugged at the open collar of his shirt, baring scarred, tanned skin from just above his sternum. “I offended you, badly, though I hadn’t meant to.” Bond sucked in a breath and beat back his pride. “I apologize for my callous question, Q, and I hope you can forgive me.” He didn’t wait for Q to respond. Instead he spun on one shoe and all but ran from the office.

Bond didn’t see the Q’s wide eyes and pale face, or the hand reaching out after him.

\-----------

“What did you do.”

Double-Oh-Seven jumped slightly, spine stiffening as Eve pressed against his back. “Nothing.” _Deny, deny, deny._

“Liar. Whatever it was you’ve made a mess of it.”

“You’re _joking_.” He turned pale eyes on the PA, wide and surprised. “I did what you said; I bought him an outrageously large, inhumanely priced cupcake from the patisserie you suggested, apologized, and left before I could jam any more of my appendages into my mouth.” He frowned, grumbling, “I’ve already run out of feet, apparently.”

Eve shook her bushy hair and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, it didn’t go over well. I’ve been getting post-it S.O.S. messages all afternoon. Apparently Q has descended into morose madness while in the midst of a massive sugar high.”

Bond refused to meet her accusing stare.

“What,” _poke_ , “did,” _poke_ , “you,” _poke_ , “ **do**?” She jabbed one manicured nail into his ribs between each word.

“Exactly what I said.”

“A likely story, Mr. Bond.” He grimaced as she slid around him to stand toe to toe, her bosom pushing the agent back slightly as it pressed against his sternum. “Tell me how the conversation went, step by step; maybe there’s a chance for you to fix this fuck up after all.”

The blonde grumbled and stepped back. He shifted until he could perch on the edge of Eve’s desk and adjusted his suit, crossing his arms over his chest. “I walked in, put down the bag, he snarked about my lack of explanation, I pulled out the pastry box, explained and apologized an-” he froze. The double-oh’s left hand twitched from where it brushed his collar, fingers releasing the starched fabric.

“ _Oh…_ ”

“...James…?”

The blonde’s right hand rose to carefully  touch the bared skin of his chest, the fingers of his left tugging the shirt away. The pads of his fingers met raised, scarred flesh and the once-mable-smooth texture of his mark, now pocked and distorted. The intricate teardrop and spiral of his mark covered his left pectoral entirely, the outer ring just touching the center of his chest. The office had been particularly hot that day, prompting the agent to undo a few more buttons on his shirt that he would have usually. His mark must have been visible…

“He saw it.” Bond’s voice was choked and rough. His right hand clenched and the blunts tips of his nails skittered across the white skin. “ _Fuck!_ Great, with my luck he thought I was either coming on to him or mocking him.” Left hand raking through his short hair, Bond turned to stare at Eve; her hand covered her mouth, eyes wide and staring. “I have to go apologize... _again_.”

Before Eve could stop him, Bond stood from the desk and pushed past her into the hall. The trip to Q-branch was quick; he avoided the elevators and instead thundered down the emergency stairs. He nearly knocked over a pair of minions and a trolley as he burst through the door to Q’s floor. The underlings squeaked and jumped away. James brushed past them without saying anything, nearly running in his haste. The double-oh only slowed his frantic pace as he reached the doors to Q-branch. With deft fingers he did up his shirt, adjusted his jacket, collar, and sleeves, and pushed open the doors.

The number of vengeful stares he received upon entering the refurbished bunker would have been intimidating, had the Q-branch minions been more rabid dobermans and less disgruntled kittens. Or had Bond been any less focused on the mission on hand. His eyes easily located Q’s slim figure, devoid of his usual cardigan with his long-fingered hands buried in his tousled hair. Even from this distance Bond could see the tufts were far more unruly than usual. He approached the Quartermaster with measured steps and halted just below the stairs that would take him up to the central command.

He cleared his throat carefully, feet spreading and bracing, hands clasping behind him in parade rest. It was an old habit to keep from fidgeting -and to show respect. “Q, may I have a moment of your time?”

The boffin jumped and choked back a squeak, twirling in surprise so quickly his glasses nearly slipped off his nose. He snatched at them and shoved the thick frames back onto his face. Wide green eyes stared down at Bond and the agent immediately began to regret his hasty actions. “I, ah, a-agent, what can I do for you?”

Bond didn’t miss the stutter and stumble, though he didn’t draw attention to it. “There is something I’d like to discuss with you in private, if you would be so kind.”

Q chewed his lower lip for a moment before nodding and motioning to another member of Q-branch who then took over. The boffin descended the three steps to stand beside Bond, barely three inches shorter, before quickly stalking away. The agent followed his Quartermaster across the floor, up the stairs, and into Q’s office where he quietly shut the door behind them. Q settled against his desk, arms cross over his chest in a mimicry of disinterest.

Bond could see the slight tremor in his hands, and the light sheen of sweat at his throat.

“What do you need, Double-Oh-Seven, I have work to do.” Even Q’s sharp tone was absent, sounding oddly hollow in comparison.

The blonde’s jaw clenched and drew himself up straighter, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as vibrant blue swept over the slimmer man’s tousled form. Q didn’t look good, not the way he usually did: all neat and proper. He swallowed, “I believe I may have, once again, offended you.”

The brunette jerked back so hard his elbow knocked a stapler clear of the desk. He hissed but made no move to go after it. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“As I said; I believe I may have offended you again. It wasn’t my intention in either instance and I would like the chance to correct my mistakes.” The words were heavy as they passed Bond’s tongue. He had no issue apologizing to Q over this; he’d buggered this up (twice) and pride be damned, he would fix it.

“Ah, why would you assume I’ve been offended by something you said, agent? You and I have traded only a handful of sentences today. Even for you that isn’t enough to actually offend me.” Q smirked, though it was a pale shadow of his usual sharp expression. “You’ll have to try much harder than that.”

“I would still like to apologize, Q.” He continued, even as Q’s brow furrowed and he made to object. “No, I need to apologize.” Bond’s right hand raised to press over his left pectoral, “I hadn’t realized that my mark was visible during our last meeting. And given the conversation that had led us to that point, it was entirely wrong of me.

“I hadn’t in any way to mock you, Q.” He paused before pushing on, “Eve told me about your mate, how he died.”

The boffin flinched.

“I realize now that baring my mark, however unintentional could have been taken as either an advance upon your person or mocking towards your, ah…” Bond’s hands swirled in the air as he searched for the correct word.

Q beat him to it, “Bond.”

“...Yes…?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes sir.”

Q huffed, “You were a right arse when you brought this up the first time, but what else is new. As for your first attempt at apologizing -which had you stayed after you would have realized I’d forgiven you-, you hadn’t offended me anew.” The slim man stood carefully from the desk and padded closer. His hand reached up to hover over Bond’s chest, not touching though the older man felt the heat of his skin through both layers of cloth.

“Then what…?”

Q sighed, eyes rising to catch Bond’s then down to the buttons of his shirt and back up.

The agent didn’t hesitate. He undid and removed his jacket, tossing it onto a filing cabinet somewhere to his right. With surprisingly steady fingers the blonde undid the buttons of his shirt to just below his sternum.

The boffin carefully caught the edge of the shirt between deft fingers and tugged it away.

Bond shivered at the chill office air and the intense focus of Q’s green gaze on his distorted flesh. He had been proud of his mark until that day in Turkey. The vibrant white teardrop and spiral had once symbolized his connection with his perfect other half. Now it was a tattered remnant of what could have been.

He’d expected Q to draw back, horrified. To watch disgust well in the young man’s eyes, to see him turn his back and make an effort to forget they ever spoke about mates and marks.

Bond hadn’t expected the choked, warbling gasp that escaped Q’s parted lips.

Long digits rose to hover over the skin of Bond’s chest. Q’s breaths came fast and shaky, his pupils shrunken to pinpricks amidst a sea of green. Just as Bond went to close the last bit of space between them Q stepped back, panting. He wouldn’t meet Bond’s eyes before turning and striding back to his desk, hands burrowing into his thick hair.

The agent frowned and his hands clenched to keep from reaching out.

“This...this never should have happened. I-I thought…” A strangled laugh burst from Q’s throat and he shook his head. The boffin turned back to face Bond and adjusted his glasses. He sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders, and closed the distance between them again. Though he stayed a bit farther back, Bond could have easily reached out to touch Q. He didn’t. “I had thought...I mean, it didn’t seem possible, but,” the brunette shook his head and cut himself off again, a shaky smile pulled his dark lips wide. He stared up at Bond for a moment.

Then he tilted his head to the right, flattened his palm under and behind his ear, just below the hem of his fringe, and drew the appendage up over his skull. The dark strands gathered and bunched until the left side of Q’s head was bared to Bond’s gaze, thick hair draped over to the other side.

Somehow vibrant against the pale flesh of his head, was a perfect, untarnished copy of Bond’s mark.

No, not a copy, the _matching mark_.

“Q, wh-what? Talk to me, what is this.” Bond felt lightheaded and his vision swam enough that he stumbled.

Q’s cool hands lashed out and caught him, left hand grasping Bond’s bicep while his right went over the older man’s heart. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Q was being kissed within an inch of his life. He managed a startled squeak at the first press of lips, as his glasses were knocked askew. The boffin had enough sense to pluck the frames from his nose and toss them over a shoulder onto the desk before they were lost.

His hands snaked up Bond’s chest, one cupping the back of the taller man’s head, the other pressing tightly to the pock-marked spiral that claimed the agent as _his_. Bond did the same, his right hand cupping Q’s skull so that his thumb could rub over the hairless skin of the mark. His other caught Q’s waist and pulled the slim man close.

Somewhere along the time one (maybe both) of them had begun to cry, and their heated kisses slowed to a sweet drag of mouths and chins slick from salty tears. Q pulled back first, laughing through the haze of tears. He bumped his forehead against Bond’s and smiled up at his mate.

“I though you’d _died_ , you arse! Leave it to you to be my perfect other half,” he chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to Bond’s lips. “Now I have another reason to test my trackers on you.”

Bond gave a token groan of annoyance before ducking back in and taking hold of Q’s mouth again. “You’ll never be rid of me again, dearest boffin, you’re stuck with this marked piece for the rest of your life.”

Q chuckled and smiled against Bond’s lips, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

\--------------


End file.
